


like every other ghost

by sardonnel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Edelbert Week, F/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Sleepless, byleth is here to stan edelbert, i would say "light angst" but my standards are off the charts, i. i think???, sleepy edie out here getting the physical intimacy she wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonnel/pseuds/sardonnel
Summary: “You might think of it as childish, but…the idea of losing you terrifies me.”“Have I not made it clear that I have no intention of ever deceiving you?”“That’s not what I meant, Hubert.”That was not the response that he was expecting.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	like every other ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Edelbert Week Day No.1 : Prompt — Sleepless  
> After a particularly haunting dream, Edelgard seeks the accompaniment of her servant.
> 
> it's actually past the 17th in my timezone but don't tell anyone

A sharp, authoritative shout pierced through the bleak shadows Edelgard found herself immersed in, a paltry sconce next to her head barely granting her the ability to see her gloved hand, let alone her surroundings. It was a hall, she determined, with only one direction to traverse. She could vaguely discern stones of a viridescent hue lining the walls enveloping her and disagreeably cold air adding to the atavistic ambiance. This place felt uniquely familiar, yet her mind was muddled as she ambled down the dimly lit path.

The impervious voice sounded again, followed by a different murmur—barely discernible from the spike in her pulse throbbing through her ears, yet still prevalent. Edelgard recognized the silvery tone of her retainer, strained and pulled taut as he responded to the preceding voice—this she acknowledged as the false serenity of the Archbishop, but stubbornly—perhaps naïvely—refused to consider what sort of tense confrontation Lady Rhea would have with Hubert, and why was she not by his side in such a dire time.

The lone candlelight that accompanied her soon turned into parallel rows of candles as the narrow path widened into what she ascertained was the Holy Mausoleum, with caskets neatly arranged, brimming with long-unused power. In its center was an ornate throne, claimed by the Immaculate One herself. At her feet laid Hubert, chained and bruised, yet his head was cradled softly, deceptively so, in her lap, contrasting the sharp glint of a dagger resting on his neck.

_‘Hubert…!’_ echoed feebly in her mind as no sound could be heard from her throat, her feet suddenly heavy as if restrained by the very earth itself, but two sets of eyes inevitably found their way to hers. 

Rhea’s smile turned dangerously thin while her servant looked aghast, face turning inexplicably paler at her mere presence. His mouth uselessly gaped open, but no words were emitted from his worn form as her blade drew dangerously closer to his jugular.

“Imperial Princess Edelgard,” the Archbishop’s words were saccharine, bitter, as her free hand idly stroked his hair. “I had truly hoped to not encounter here. Have you come to defend this… _heretic_?” her fabricated smile twisted into a scowl as she slightly flicked her wrist, a lone scarlet drop trailing down her blade and onto her gown of alabaster. 

No matter how hard she could struggle, Edelgard moved no more. What was more panic-inducing—in between the scene unfolding before her eyes, with an outcome so atrocious that she felt nausea rising at the mere thought of it, or her unremitting inability to reclaim her body and bring an end to it herself—left her breathless as she fruitlessly wished for even the slightest motion from what felt like no more than her own corpse. The dagger she kept carefully strapped to the inside of her jacket remained untouched, even if she willed it to appear in her hands to be hurled and embedded directly into the holy woman's cranium, so she could surge forward and reclaim what was hers—

It was unclear if Hubert could see the panic reflected in her desperate gaze. He managed to groggily lift his head and—instead of turning to Edelgard—craned his neck towards Rhea instead, who returned a look of cold indifference.

“I’ve told you this before, _beast_. Edelgard has nothing to do with this. Nothing to do with my actions. She is nothing but a pawn. A leftover from the Empire’s insurrection.” It was not the words that brought pain to her heart, but rather his tone—she did not need to regard his face to tell he was anguished. She was accustomed to how he would speak about her: his praises were ceaseless and effulgent, perhaps indulgently so, but his perdurable servitude pleased him. He would never hesitate to reaffirm that he was bound to her, by his own choice and not by blood. 

How funny, that said blood would be spilt to protect her.

Saying words that contradicted his heartfelt loyalty caused a pain in him worse than death, and she felt it. 

“I see,” The unspoken promise shared between them was interrupted as the Archbishop slowly raised her blade in a mockery of peace. “Now is the time to voice any objections you may hold, princess, else I heed his words as the truth.”

_‘He only serves me. Don’t hurt him. We will take you down.’_

There was nothing she could utter, even though she had wanted to. Softhearted. Hubert would reprimand her decision if she were to call upon their shadow-bound associates to get them free from this mess for his expendable sake, but she would rather deal with a scolding—an infinite number of scoldings, even—than losing him.

Hubert slowly turned back to her direction and Edelgard wished he didn’t. Even as Rhea slowly lowered her hand once more, the finality of his reassuring smile and nod made a painful lump rise in her throat. She wanted to close her eyes, plug her ears, just lose all sense of perception for this moment, but the world under her grasp was unforgivingly cruel.

It was a methodical flick of Rhea’s wrist that ended it. Even in his final moments, Edelgard faintly noticed him divert his head, in a futile attempt to spare her the sight of life diminishing from his chartreuse eyes, the miserable gurgle that he couldn’t restrain and—

There was so much blood. Too much blood.

The viscous crimson tide besmirched the robes of the Archbishop and continued to inundate the catacombs at an inhumane speed, even as Edelgard was rooted in the same person.

She often spoke of a path soaked by blood, but she could never come to terms with it—with how much blood was spilt for her sake, only for the remnants of her heart to feel hollowed and cold. She had lost her siblings and her innocence years ago, yet phantom pains still plagued.

To lose another of the few people she cherished was unbearable.

_‘Hubert…”_

* * *

“Hubert!”

Edelgard woke to a start, desperately tossing her vermillion duvet aside to free herself from the overbearing ache in her chest.

Of course it was another nightmare.

Even when she reclined on her pillow—sodden with what she assumed was both sweat and tears—pressing the heel of her palms to her eyes, the phantasmagoric remnants continued to haunt her, accompanying her into reality. If she opened her eyes, would she behold Rhea once more, in all her wicked glory? The Immaculate One did not frighten her, truly. But the madwoman held no regard for the lives that did not bend to her hegemonic influence.

With a self-deprecating laugh—how childish was she, to want to wish away her woes—Edelgard sat up with a cursory glance to her window. Stars still remained, offering slight luminesce amongst the night sky, but she could see the hint of dawnlight encroaching through the mountains, its milky light preceding the rise of the sun.

The day would begin soon, and Edelgard appreciated the opportunity to not return to the tempting embrace of rest. She ignored the lethargy settled deep into her body as she dressed herself.

Her hands remained tremulous as she cautiously closed her door, turning the knob all the way to prevent the sound of it shutting. Hubert’s room was arranged to be next to her. It was hardly odd for a pair like them to prefer closer proximity to one another, despite Seteth’s initial protests against the concept. 

What was unauthorized was the copy of his key, clutched tightly in her fist as she watched the door for any sign of life inside. She vowed to exclusively use the key in case of emergency, even when Hubert insisted that she needed no restraint. While unsure of what exactly was considered to be an emergency, Edelgard knew that “seeking accompaniment after a nightmare” was beneath her, therefore beneath him.

For the first time in a painfully long time, she just wanted to indulge herself and follow the whims of her heart, wrapped firmly beneath the innumerous layers of permafrost she had placed there. She wanted to scold her irrationality and return to the persona of the Imperial Princess, but the burgeoning girl within wanted nothing more than reassurance from her closest friend.

It was unclear how long she was awkwardly fumbling with his door. Had she been more conversant, she would have assumed that Hubert had already awoken after she jammed in the key incorrectly the first time and would have wordlessly opened the door for her.

A hand lightly gripped her wrist and she instinctively mimicked the act, desperately grasping to the arm with her other hand—now freed since her hold on the key was relinquished, marked by the muted clink of it hitting the ground. The body immediately tensed once the gesture was returned and Edelgard slowly turned around.

It was Hubert. His dimly lit visage was twisted with obvious concern, but he was here. His pale eyes, narrowed from perturbation, were vibrant once more, and through his clothes could she discern the unmistakable beat of his pulse.

“Is everything alright?” he whispered urgently. His tone was insistent, as if he had already repeated the inquiry, but it was firm and unrelenting. 

Edelgard wanted to sob in relief.

She allowed the cold air of the night to fill her lungs, reminded by the slight sting that this was real, that he was real, and that she was real. That whatever visions had plagued her slumber was meaningless, even when she could not thoroughly rid her conscience of neverending ichor climbing up her legs.

“Hubert.” Edelgard released him and rested her hands on her hips and met his unerring scrutiny. The contours of his frown only deepened after her display.

“You need to rest—”

“What have you been up to?”

She watched him cease the intense look upon his arm and instead crossed it with the other, still dissatisfied. 

“I was patrolling the area—nothing warranting your concern, my lady. Until I had come across you trying to get into my room most urgently,” his response ended with a lilt, as if prompting a sufficient explanation for her behavior. She would not give him one.

“I’ll come with you.” she decided, nudging her own door open to grab the axe reclining against the wall. Whatever objections he had were extinguished by her steely gaze as she expectantly joined his side.

She was indulging her fears again and she knew it. Her body ached for rest and her mind was disruptively sluggish, but she wanted to remain with him, just for a moment longer, to ease herself. If he had vowed to remain on this path with her, never diverting by his own volition, then she would do her part to ensure that such a fate would not happen under her watch, is what she reasoned herself.

The disquieted part of her refused to let him investigate the monastery by his lonesome. In an incident where the both of them were to be discovered, she could easily arrange for their plans to be expedited by several months. To sully their ambitions with hastiness was not optimal, but it was possible to execute, markedly so when compared to the alternative outcome—where Hubert would face death alone at the hands of an oppressive force he had worked to dismantle. 

Her retainer huffed, a hint of mirth returning to his visible eye as he raised his arms in mock surrender. “As you wish.”

* * *

Although he had acquiesced with her demand to join him, Hubert regretted the decision almost immediately. 

Edelgard was a capable fighter—much more than him, he would admit with a hint of smugness—and by no means could he ever reduce her to a mere liability. She was invaluable, as the future Emperor of Adrestia, as well as the entirety of Fódlan itself, to eradicate the corruption that went unsaid for generations of unnecessary bloodshed. 

With such a high title looming over her head, Edelgard would push herself to her limits and beyond. Perhaps he was to blame for the disregard of one’s own health.

She was exhausted.

Night terrors would contort her face into a haunted portrait—no matter how she tried to conceal her fears, the slightest hint of unease would pierce the statuesque facade she carefully crafted. Hubert was familiar with such an occurrence from their years spent together. When she had returned to him so long ago, hair and skin the color of fallen snow with unnatural scars marring her body, she had enlightened him with the unfortunate fates of the Hresvelg children. The nights following were pierced by anguished wails, so powerful from a girl thought to be so frail. There was little Hubert could do to alleviate her woes but curl up on her rug, clothes rumpled as he rushed to her side at even the slightest change in her sleep.

He felt useless in such intimate affairs of the heart, even today.

“Careful, Lady Edelgard,” he warned, offering his hand to guide her away from the gnarled root of a tree. Edelgard accepted it wordlessly, a prominent stumble in her gait.

They moved along the perimeter of the monastery for what might have been little more than an hour, judging by the rising pastel hues in the sky as the night sky would soon diminish into nothingness. Countless times had he offered his liege the opportunity to return to her bedroom, but she remained steadfast as long as he would continue. 

Even if the task was incomplete, he refused to push her any further.

Salvation came in the form of a small clearing nestled between lush evergreen trees. A stream gently split the land, and a fallen tree trunk had laid near it. Reflected on the water’s surface was the sky, turning from navy blue to a soothing color of cream, as if the stream itself had carried the passage of time. It was almost picturesque, if he cared about such frivolities. More importantly, it was fairly close to the Officers’ Academy if one suddenly questioned their excursion, yet far enough that the chatter of life would not be discernible beyond the natural hum of birdsong. 

Hubert ushered her into taking a seat on the trunk, himself following shortly after. Although her face was quirked into a moue, she raised no other complaints, and almost seemed appreciative, resting her elbows where her thighs met as she laid her head in her open palms.

A brief moment had passed by, the staccato of the second marked by the dew gathered on leaves returning to the water. Hubert adjusted the collar of his uniform as Edelgard, nearly dozing, peered at him through her lashes. 

“Will you tell me? About the nightmare, I mean,”

At the question, Edelgard’s eyes went wide as she sat up, hands carefully folded on her lap. “I don’t know what you speak of.”

“…you have a telling sign, my lady.” Hubert noted with a pained wince. Multiple telling signs, were he to be honest. Edelgard possessed expertise when practicing a sense of normalcy, as an untouchable paragon, but he was familiarized with even the slightest sign of her weaknesses. It could be something slight, such as her fretting with her gloves and cravat, or a faint frown line appearing in between her brows. Or it could be something akin to what he witnessed earlier—where was completely dissociated from the world.

“You don’t have to share it with me if you wish, but I implore that you at least return to bed.”

Edelgard made a contemplative sigh at his statement, folding her hands nervously as she formed a reply.

“You might think of it as childish, but…the idea of losing you terrifies me.”

“Have I not made it clear that I have no intention of ever deceiving you?”

“That’s not what I meant, Hubert.” 

That was not the response that he was expecting.

His breath hitched in his throat as he looked to his own hands. They had discussions like this before, in the case of an unfortunate mistake jeopardizing the coup. She was perhaps twelve, still mourning the loss of her loved ones as the nobles she was once told to trust continued to claim more power. Many sleepless nights were spent drafting the scheme to bring it all to an end, with many possible scenarios considered. One that Edelgard was vehement about not discussing was his role as a scapegoat once things were to awry.

It only made sense to him, as he only wished to serve her to his end, regardless of how he would meet it. In a case where their machinations were to be discovered, he would solely carry the blame for Edelgard’s safety. She would have to play her role as well, enraged at his apparent betrayal, ignorant to what malicious deeds he committed behind her back. 

He was expendable. Although he had not started yet, nor was he fond of the idea, he could train someone else to replace his role as the succeeding Minister of the Imperial Household, as well as serving as an accomplice in tasks that Edelgard had needed from him, or the enigmatic missions from their adumbral connivers. 

Compared to Edelgard’s pivotal role as a beacon of hope, a figure of pure admiration, and a leader to usher Fódlan beyond its current draconian system, Hubert was nothing more than a blade in the shadows—efficient, but ultimately replaceable. 

Why she insisted on caring about him was beyond his understanding. 

“I see,” he muttered, conflicted. “But I cannot promise that I won’t meet a wretched end. However, do know that I have no qualms with death if it meant—”

“ _Stop it_ .” Hubert once again found himself stilled as her tone turned haggard. In his peripheral he caught hints of her lavender eyes boring right through him as she leaned closer. “You don’t understand. I want you by my side, and I want you there until the end, and the years afterward. You aren’t just some… _pawn_ to be disposed of. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t replace you so callously. You’re my friend, Hubert. One of the few people who knew _Edie_ , before I…” she paused to shake her head.

“I will lead Fódlan to prosperity, and I expect you to be there with me. Am I clear?”

Hubert scoffed, ignoring the foreign warmth rushing to his gaunt cheeks at the sincerity of her words. “Very well then. Is there anything else I should keep in mind?”

She laughed lightly and he froze when she laid her head on his shoulder, ivory tresses gliding around them.

“Lady Edelgard—”

“I’m resting.”

He couldn’t refute his own suggestions, then. She fell asleep shortly after closing her eyes and Hubert found himself gazing at the serenity gracing her slumbering features. While she did not directly state what troubled her dreams, it would be foolish for him to not conclude it had something to do with. He felt remorseful for bringing her pain in such a way, but he knew Edelgard would have deflected it away.

If sitting together with her like this would ward off her nightmares, then he would gladly oblige.

* * *

Behind him, a twig snapped and Hubert hastily turned towards the source of the noise. His movements were impeded by his liege’s head falling off his shoulder and into his lap with a small sound of disapproval at the sudden change, but she still laid dormant. Perhaps rushing to stand up would be most unwise here.

“Show yourself,” he clicked his teeth impatiently, the startings of a Miasma spell sparking at his fingertips. A glance to the deep blue of the morning sky had reminded him that he had sat out here longer than expected.

“It’s me.”

After a second of bewilderment, Hubert allowed the magic to safely dissipate into the air.

“…bold of you to assume I would know who ‘me’ is, professor.”

“Good job.” Byleth responded with an easy smile as she ambled closer, innocuously stepping on what might have been every twig present, to the duo until she was on Hubert’s unoccupied size. She cocked her head in Edelgard’s direction with a sympathetic hum and placed what she was carrying—written assignments, he noted—on the ground next to him. “Today’s lesson plans.”

Hubert glanced dubiously at the papers, then back to Byleth, brow quirked.

“Edelgard is still tired, right?” she treaded lightly with her words as she spoke. “I’ll let her sleep then. I entrust you to keep an eye on her.”

“As if I need your approval to care for her?”

“Right, right.” Byleth dismissed his icy tone, unperturbed as usual by him. “They’ll be serving sautéed pheasant and eggs later today in the dining hall. Join me?”

“I’ll consider it,” Hubert feigned disinterest, knowing it was one of the few meals he and Edelgard mutually enjoyed. Of course Byleth would know that.

She departed with a bow, again leaving noisily.

Edelgard was still contently asleep. Were he a sentimental man, he would gently press his lips to her exposed forehead and reminisce of days past, where he was allowed to hold her close without the weight of the world holding them both down.

He settled for lightly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, an unconsciously tug of her lips upwards as she reclined into his touch.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> this is my first published fic and i apologize for being a mess. i'll go back into the darkness where i belong. my professor would throw me straight into the sun if she saw these inverted sentences and passive voice
> 
> (........nightmares are useful tools for not-killing characters to avoid the responsibility of creating an entirely new narrative without them)


End file.
